In the coldness of one November night, a baby lay in her mother’s arms, not knowing what was to happen next. The rocking chair faced the window, opposite the doorway. The door creaked behind them, and the mother turned back, seeing nothing. After turning back towards the window, a gun cocked; but it was too late. Before the mother could turn back again, the gun was fired, the bullet landing in the back of her head. The baby squealed, shrieked, and continued to cry.

Within five minutes, fire engulfed the house, leaving no escape for the baby. Within five minutes, the murderer was safe; in no harms way of the fire.

The baby cried and cried, but her mother would not answer. The fire grew larger, and the neighbors called the fire department. They were there within minutes. But before they could reach the screaming baby, a flaming beam above her head tossed sparks and flames into her eyes, and onto her arms and legs. The baby tossed and turned, attempting to toss aside the flaming darkness. She could not see, as the flaming beam fell to the floor beside her.

Her arms were charred, her legs blackened, but worst of all, her once sky-blue eyes were gone, engulfed by the firery blackness of that cold November nite.

The firefighters reached her and her mother at last, but the mother had already passed away. They chased the fire away from the bodies, carried them out, then disposed of the fire from the blackened house.

The baby was taken to the nearest hospital to be treated for her burns. One look at the girl’s eyes and the doctors were in tears. They knew they could do nothing to make the child see again. “Not even one year old, “ said one doctor. “and she will never see the beauties of the world.”

The child’s father had raced to the hospital the minute he heard of the tragedy, while he was in the middle of a late-night meeting. When he saw his daughter, he wept. Gause had been wrapped around the top of her head, to cover her eyes. Her legs and arms were wrapped too, covered in cream to heal the burns. The father wept and wept for his wife and daughter, guilty that he wasn’t there to save them.

After weeks of healing, all you could see of the baby were small scars up and down her arms and legs. Other than her eyes, she was fine and in good health. But her eyes, blinded by fire, were too much to bear. Just looking into them would make anyone tear up. They had to be constantly covered to help her father cope with the tragedy. Every time he looked into her eyes, he cried. They were no longer sky-blue, but the color of ash from a fire; pitch black. She would never see again.